


ABC's (Arpeggios, Books, Coffee) of Love

by SailorFish



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Awkward Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Greek gods are assholes, M/M, Modern Retelling, Retelling, male!Eurydice, the Major Character Death tag doesn't stick obviously, to hell and back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24338707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorFish/pseuds/SailorFish
Summary: Eurydike knew immediately which one the god-born was. Him and his swagger weren’t hard to miss. He was sitting at the furthest table on the terrace - the one closest to the sea - and he was dressed in a black bomber jacket and sunglasses. The breeze played through his dark curls; his eyes were hidden under sunglasses, but were no doubt some brilliant colour like all the god-born. He had his legs stretched out and his feet propped up on a battered guitar case. Silhouetted against the waves, it made for a handsome picture.Eurydike scoffed. It was late spring. It wasn’t cold enough to need a jacket and it wasn’t bright enough to need sunglasses.--Just a modern retelling of an old story.
Relationships: Eurydice wife of Orpheus/Orpheus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Hades/Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. PART I.

**Author's Note:**

> A friend told me she'd always wanted a modern m/m Orpheus/Eurydice retelling. Tada!  
> Note: I love Hadestown, but any elements you recognise from it aren't deliberate. :) Only so many ways to tell a simple, romantic, fucked-up story after all.

Eurydike knew immediately which one the god-born was. Him and his swagger weren’t hard to miss. He was sitting at the furthest table on the terrace - the one closest to the sea - and he was dressed in a black bomber jacket and sunglasses; the breeze played through his dark curls. His eyes were hidden, but were no doubt some brilliant colour like all the god-born. He had his feet propped up on a battered guitar case. Silhouetted against the waves, it made for a handsome picture.

Eurydike scoffed. It was late spring. It wasn’t cold enough to need a jacket and it wasn’t bright enough to need sunglasses.

But his boss had heard the man was some big-shot travelling musician and the tourist season wasn’t in full swing yet. They needed the customers. Maybe if the god-born liked his coffee, he’d come back in the evening and take out the guitar.

So Eurydike un-gritted his teeth and plastered on a smile. He arranged the tray, studiously ignoring the customers who’d been waiting longer, and walked over to the god-born. Who didn’t take his feet off the guitar case.

He also looked up at Eurydike very, very slowly. Eurydike rearranged his impression from  _ pure asshole  _ to  _ hungover as fuck, with asshole characteristics _ .

“Your coffee, lord,” he said.

The god-born burst out laughing. Then he dug his fingers into his hair, wincing.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “Don’t do that.”

Yup, hungover as fuck.

“Don’t do what, lord?” said Eurydike very earnestly, because the whole situation was irritating and it was only a part-time job. “Bring you the coffee you ordered?”

But the god-born didn’t take offense. He just reached for the drink and knocked back half of it in one go. The boss had brewed it strong and bitter. Unwillingly, Eurydike felt a glimmer of approval for this man who drank coffee with neither a grimace nor with pleasure, but as a kind of medicinal shot.

Medicine thus taken, the god-born smiled up at Eurydike. “Come on, do I look like the lord of anything?”

That snuffed the glimmer out. He  _ looked _ like somebody who put a lot of effort into looking effortlessly cool. Like a cross between an old-fashioned rockstar and one of those YouTubers who made their living from clickbait vlogs:  _ SNEAKING into ABANDONED TEMPLE - 3000 years old!! _

“I suppose the title  _ does _ clash with your sunglasses,” Eurydike allowed. “But at Taverna Argonautica, we believe the customer is king.”

The god-born cocked his head, his smile even wider. “So ‘lord’ is, in fact, a downgrade?”

“You tell me. You’re the one they say is god-born.”

“I’m the one they say is god-born,” he agreed.

His tone was wry and it startled Eurydike. There were always humans who claimed they were children of the gods - there was one on some Makedonia TV talk-show right now claiming to be Aphrodite’s daughter. It could be coloured contacts and a way to boost ratings when everyone was switching to Netflix. Or it could be true. The gods didn’t seem to mind either way, provided the human didn’t pretend they were descended from a  _ virgin  _ goddess.

Eurydike had never heard of anyone denying the claim before.

“So you’re not then?” he tried to sound casual about it. If the rumours were fake, he didn’t have to suck up to the man after all. But the way he said it… It wasn’t  _ quite  _ a denial. “Only my boss heard there was a famous musician passing through Tainaron, and you have a guitar.”

An ugly scowl had blossomed on the man’s face by the time Eurydike finished. He was no longer languidly reposing in his chair; his shoulders were tight and his fingers drummed on the table.

“I  _ am _ a famous musician passing through Tainaron,” he said and Eurydike would have laughed if his voice wasn’t almost a growl. “But  _ I  _ go on stage and  _ I  _ perform. Me. Orpheus. My-father-Apollo-who-works-from-afar didn’t give me a harp. My-mother-the-clear-voiced-muse didn’t teach me to sing. It’s all  _ me _ .” Abruptly, the intensity faded from him. He smiled again. “And I have the carpal tunnel to prove it.”

Eurydike found his mouth was dry. His fingers were clenched tight around the tray. He really, really wished the man would take off his sunglasses. After that bit of hubris, he was sure, Orpheus’ eyes would be large, crazed, and very vibrant. Eurydike licked his lips.

“We don’t allow blasphemers in the taverna,” he said finally, primly. They didn’t have the money to keep repairing the roof if they did.

“I’m not a blasphemer,” said the god-born blasphemer. “I thank Tykhe of the heights daily.”

As though that was any better.

“You think it’s all luck?”

“Luck, want, and hard work,” Orpheus shrugged. “What else is there?”

Glowing eyes and a parent’s blessing. Fine: put that way, Eurydike could see how it might seem an insult to the one who actually played the music. Though he couldn’t tell why being blessed by the goddess of luck would be more acceptable than being blessed by a god who birthed you. And it was irritating how comfortably hubris sat on the handsome man’s face.

So Eurydike pretended the question wasn’t rhetorical and suggested, “Passion perhaps, lord?”

A direct hit; Orpheus’ eyebrows knitted together.

_ Passion _ was merely the gods moving through you, the old poets said. Helen had only fallen for Paris because Aphrodite had willed her to; Diomedes hurled his spear best when Athena guided his arm. Officially, the Sibyl of Delphi had declared the gods would no longer inspire humans directly in the 26th century of Democratic Athens - around the time  _ passion from the gods _ as a defence was popular enough to wreak havoc in the legal system. But everyone knew the gods kept rarely to their own decrees.

Orpheus opened his mouth to argue. Then he closed it again. He winced exaggeratedly. And winced a second time for real - hangovers weren’t cured  _ that  _ quickly with half a cup of coffee.

“Alright. I’m not  _ quite  _ as arrogant as you think - I know when I’m being baited.” He laughed (quietly) and Eurydike shrugged. It had been worth a shot. “But I accept.”

“You… accept?” repeated Eurydike, who wasn’t aware he’d been offering anything.

“Your offer to play at the taverna tonight,” Orpheus nodded graciously. “You missed out on three tables’ worth of tips just to needle me. It’d be rude of me to go somewhere else after all that.”

Eurydike’s teachers had always said to trust one’s gut. Nevermind that this was exactly what his boss had sent him here to wrangle for; Eurydike gaped at the sheer fucking nerve of him.

“But I’ll need at least one more coffee, if you don’t mind,” continued Orpheus nonchalantly. “Don’t want you blaming my drowsiness on  _ a fit from the gods _ .”

So saying, he polished off the rest of his drink and offered the cup back to Eurydike, who took it automatically. Then after realising what he had done, he turned on his heel and stomped back to the kitchen. This time, his teeth remained gritted.

_ Pure asshole, with hungover characteristics _ . 

He left a generous tip too, the bastard.

***

Orpheus played in their taverna that evening.

He’d taken off his sunglasses for it; his eyes were a bright, fierce gold and they stayed on one person the whole night.

Fine: Eurydike had to admit that he was good.

***

“So?”

Orpheus was sitting in the exact same spot the next day, as though he hadn’t even gone home. They were the only ones there. Technically, the taverna hadn’t even been open until Eurydike showed up for his morning shift, though that didn't seem to have stopped Orpheus from making himself comfortable.

He beamed up at Eurydike. He was wearing his sunglasses again, though he couldn’t have been hungover today unless he was a total light-weight. Eurydike had been bringing him his drinks and had kept track of them.

“God-blessed or just me?” said Orpheus.

Eurydike considered him a second.

“Just you,” he said and the god-born preened. So Eurydike added, “The gods wouldn't have fucked up the chords in the Seikilos Epitaph.”

That was a direct hit too. Orpheus spluttered at him.

“I'll have you know I did that on - wait, how did you even - are you a musician?!”

He said it accusingly, like it was the worst of betrayals if the man who’d served him coffee and ouzo for one afternoon hadn’t told him of his deepest passions. He even grabbed at Eurydike’s hand, peering closely at the calluses. Eurydike immediately snatched it back. The only callus on his fingers was from a pen.

“I know absolutely nothing about music,” he informed Orpheus. “I saw you mouth  _ fuck _ twice during the melody bit.”

A beat of silence and then Orpheus started to laugh. He laughed a lot, Eurydike noted.

“I think that’s actually better,” the god-born said with a sly grin. “I’m happy you were watching me so closely.”

Well, it turned out it wasn’t only Eurydike who could land his hits. Very aware of the warmth in his cheeks, Eurydike sniffed once and turned his head away.

“The happiness of our customers is always our utmost priority, lord,” he recited. “On that note, can I take your order?”

To his credit - though Eurydike was loathe to give him any - Orpheus backed down immediately. 

“I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “Please don’t be like that. I came early so we could have a coffee before your work and you could make fun of me some more.”

Put like that, Eurydike had to admit that though Orpheus was an asshole, he hadn’t been the kindest either. If you squinted and looked at it in a certain light, you could even say it wasn’t the god-born’s fault. Whatever other traits they got from their parents, arrogance generally ran in the blood. Eurydike, on the other hand, was being petty for fun. And Orpheus  _ had  _ made him more drachmae in tips in one night than he’d gotten over the past week and a half.

“Alright,” said Eurydike. “But it’s not on the house.”

_ That  _ hadn’t been beaming.  _ This  _ was beaming. (Maybe it was good Orpheus kept his stupid sunglasses on; his eyes had been radiant enough by lamplight.)

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

So Eurydike went off to make them both some coffee: strong and bitter for Orpheus again, and the normal two teaspoons of coffee to three teaspoons of sugar for himself. After a second’s hesitation, he placed one of yesterday’s butter cookies next to each. He’d decide later if  _ they  _ were on the house.

“So,” said Orpheus again as Eurydike got settled. “I think we’ve just about exhausted the topic of me. And I didn’t catch your name yesterday..?”

“Eurydike.”

“Eurydike!” Orpheus nodded like it was some important revelation. “And what’s a dryad doing waitering a seaside taverna?”

Eurydike choked on his coffee.

At least he managed to set the cup down before the coughing started. Orpheus, who had apparently not heard that thumping a choking person on the back was useless, thumped him on the back. When his fit subsided, Eurydike glared at the god-born. Orpheus in turn looked perplexed at all the fuss.

“How did you  _ know? _ ” Eurydike said. Orpheus did not look any less perplexed. “That I was a dryad.”

Orpheus cocked his head, as though to say:  _ How could I not? _

“O nymph with the lovely braids,” he began.

“Don’t,” growled Eurydike, who kept his hair short.

“Suit yourself. But you might want to invest in a pair of these sometime,” the god-born tapped his sunglasses.

Eurydike’s eyes were hazel - not the most common eye colour maybe, but not  _ inhuman _ . It had to be that like recognised like. Yes, that was it; his racing heart calmed. Normal humans couldn’t tell - his boss didn’t know, certainly. Eurydike wouldn’t have gone over if he was being sicced on Orpheus as some divine seductor.

“Is it a… problem?” asked Orpheus. Eurydike decided he liked this one non-asshole trait of Orpheus: he backed down with just as little hesitation as he sped up. “I have zero qualms with hiding divinity, you know.”

“I do know, lord,” said Eurydike dryly and Orpheus laughed. “It’s not  _ really _ a problem.”

Nymphs had the exact same rights as humans and demigods in Greece. Even if most kept to themselves, out of the communities where they could take advantage of those rights, the rights themselves were still there. Eurydike didn’t even have to pay for uni.

Of course, rights and reactions were very different things.

“But I’m only here for the summer holidays,” he continued. “Long enough for it to be a problem if it  _ did _ turn into a problem, but not long enough to find somewhere else if it did.” Right, that sounded depressing. He bit into the cookie, swilled it down with some coffee, and let himself drown in sweetness for a moment. “And I don't like my boss enough to earn him extra customers as the  _ amazing inhuman waiter! _ ”

“That's up to your  _ amazing inhuman musician! _ ”

Eurydike shrugged. There was absolutely nothing about Orpheus that suggested he disliked being the centre of attention. “Naturally.”

“Naturally. Then, follow-up question: what does a dryad do when he’s  _ not  _ waitering a seaside taverna?”

Eurydike loved his studies. He would never want to do anything else. He couldn’t wait to finish and he couldn’t wait get to work. But right this moment, he wished he was studying something else instead. Like computer programming. Or economics. Or even archaeology.

“I’m studying in Athens,” he said and then ripped the band-aid off. “Environmental sciences.”

At least it wasn’t forestry.

Orpheus’ lips quirked. But he didn’t laugh again - maybe Eurydike had misjudged him. And he constrained himself to, “A little on the nose, surely?” 

Eurydike shrugged. It was and it wasn’t. On the whole, his kind didn’t mingle much with humans, and if they did it was because there was something they genuinely found important. What could be more important than rising oceans and dying forests?

“Someone has to un-fuck the earth after you humans fucked her.” 

Just as expected, his chair jumped a few centimetres as the earth directly below him shook. But that was alright. The dryads had an understanding with the lady Gaea. She didn’t mind a little blasphemy - now and then, between friends, for a good cause. Orpheus observed the shaking earth with raised eyebrows.

“ _ Them _ humans, as you say.”

He lifted his sunglasses for a moment. His eyes were indeed radiant - divinely perfect, molten gold in the morning sun. Eurydike hadn’t misjudged him after all. He snorted.

“You really are a snake,” he said and couldn’t keep the admiration out of his voice.

“I am,” agreed Orpheus cheerfully. “But the music was good, wasn’t it?”

Eurydike didn’t particularly care about music. Eurydike put audiobooks on when he washed the dishes. Eurydike had had to run to the kitchen twice last night so those golden eyes wouldn’t catch him tearing up.

“Yeah, it wasn’t bad,” Eurydike said.

Maybe even that was too much. They finished their coffee in silence and Orpheus glowed the whole time like Eurydike had just presented him a Grammy. In the end, the cookies were on the house.

***

After that, Orpheus took it for granted that he’d be performing at Taverna Argonautica nightly - and to be fair, Eurydike’s boss was overjoyed the musician was there to stay. There was no question of the customers getting bored with seeing the same entertainer when that entertainer was Orpheus. In fact, it was the opposite. The tweets, chain emails, and gossip soon spread about where Orpheus had settled in for the summer. Customers followed.

To Eurydike’s surprise, it turned out quite a few people planned their summer vacations around where the so-called “best Greek musician” ended up. After all, Orpheus refused to record with a label or even set up a YouTube channel. Where else could his fans see him, other than live? Scrolling through the past years’ hashtags on one idle afternoon, Eurydike admitted he did right by them. And himself, of course. The photos accompanying the tweets were always of beautiful beaches and appetising food.

Pretty soon, the boss was crying tears of joy and Orpheus’ coffee was permanently on the house. 

As for Eurydike’s thoughts on the matter… Well, his main question was,  _ when did Orpheus sleep? _ As far as Eurydike knew, even the god-born had to sleep. But Orpheus consistently stayed after the dryad went home and was always there for a chat over coffee when he came in. For a few days, Eurydike entertained himself with the idea of Orpheus subsisting off applause like the immortal gods subsisted off nectar.

But as the weather turned downright hot and the taverna’s sunbeds started filling up, Eurydike spotted the musician. He was dead asleep in sweatpants and sunglasses, with his feet still propped up on the guitar case. After carefully balancing the tray of cocktails he was holding, Eurydike kicked the sunbed. Hard.

Orpheus startled awake with a yelp, which immediately turned into a grin when he saw who was leaning over him.

“Do you not have the money for a hotel?” asked Eurydike.

“No,” replied Orpheus instantly. “It’s very sad. Can I stay with you?”

Eurydike rolled his eyes. He’d gotten used to Orpheus’ blunt audacity by now.

“I can give you the address for the local homeless shelter, if you’d like.”

“That’s very kind! But that’s alright. I’ll just continue keeping my stuff at the hotel and sleeping here.”

“Didn’t you just say you didn’t have the money for a hotel?”

“Did I? I guess my pretty four-star hotel room and its fluffy pillows just slipped my mind for a moment,” Orpheus lied cheerfully.

“If you have such a nice room,” Eurydike shot back. “ _ Why do you never sleep there? _ ”

Orpheus stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled up at him. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Eurydike was being very silly for asking, he gently said, “Because then I wouldn’t be able to spend my mornings with you. I’d rather sleep when you’re busy and talk when you’re not.”

Eurydike had  _ not  _ gotten used to Orpheus’ blunt honesty. 

He carefully weighed how much of his blush could be seen through sunglasses - he was contemplating pouring one of the fancy cocktails on Orpheus’ head. Not that much, Eurydike decided, so the musician’s hair remained dry. As he hesitated, Orpheus’ sunny smile grew even broader. The thing was, Orpheus  _ liked  _ to see Eurydike become flustered, unsure what to say, even a little angry.

Nymphs were used to being chased by gods and humans alike. Eurydike was no newcomer to this type of thing, though he’d had no patience for it since he’d begun his studies. But he’d never been in a chase quite like this one. The people after nymphs generally liked to, well, be the ones doing the chasing. Orpheus liked to push too, but he was just as delighted to be pushed back. 

Orpheus, he presumed, was a masochist.

Well Eurydike has no interest in giving Orpheus what he wanted. So he tossed his head - wishing for one moment that he hadn’t cut his hair short when he started uni; Eurydike was sure Orpheus’ breath would have hitched at  _ that  _ sight - and told him, “Then I suppose you’d better get back to sleep. The crazy pre-breakfast swimmers will be starting it up soon - you’ll have to come by dawn if you want to talk.”

As speeches went, it wasn’t particularly flirtatious, and as Eurydike walked away, his step held more swagger than sashay. Orpheus’ breath hitched anyway.

***

Anyway, as dates went, it wasn’t like early morning coffee with a handsome man was a hardship. Especially after Eurydike stopped pretending they weren’t dates, and started setting out their coffee on the beach instead of at the taverna, so they could watch the sun rise out of the sea together. And Orpheus proved good company at dawn, albeit as obnoxious as ever and disgustingly cheerful for the hour.

“No, I just sound better when I fuck up,” he insisted, laughing. “I don’t have to be the greatest musician in Greece to tell my minor chords apart from the major. If I wanted to.”

“You can’t be serious. Are you really claiming you make mistakes on purpose?”

Alright, Orpheus was good. Even Eurydike’s untrained ear could hear that. But there were limits - both to musical ability and to arrogance.

“I always do,” Orpheus said. When Eurydike did not even attempt to soften his very skeptical expression, he huffed. “Believe me, it sounds odd if I don’t. Here.”

He cleared his throat, as though he was adjusting something within himself. There was a very peculiar look on his face. Not like he was concentrating: rather, the opposite. Like a strain Eurydike had never noticed about him had just lifted.

Orpheus sang a few bars of an old sailor’s song.

“You see?”

For the first time, there was a trace of self-consciousness about him; his fingers tapped out something unknowable on his coffee cup. Eurydike managed to close his mouth. He swallowed hard. Twice.

“That was…” he trailed off.

_ That,  _ and not the colour of their eyes, was what separated the god-born from the pretenders.  _ That _ was a touch of divinity, here on an empty, ordinary beach at the outskirts of Tainaron.  _ That  _ was why even in the year 2584 of Democratic Athens, when beggars were equal in rights to presidents, people still called the god-born ‘lord’.  _ That _ was… 

“Creepy,” Orpheus finished.

His glumness startled a laugh out of Eurydike. Orpheus, the god-born who wore sunglasses among strangers and enjoyed being pushed by nymphs, didn’t deal in awe. And yet, now that Eurydike had seen Orpheus free of the strain of keeping to human limits, he wasn’t sure he could go back to enjoying Orpheus, stifled.

So he said simply, “No, I liked it. I mean, I’m not so good at music, I can’t say it more specifically. But I liked it.”

Orpheus didn’t wear his sunglasses in the morning anymore. The look he gave Eurydike was sharp, considering, uncertain. Then he scratched a little at the back of his neck and looked away.

“Well, alright,” he said quietly. “Maybe for you then, sometimes.”

***

One morning, though, found Orpheus with an uncustomarily sheepish look on his face.

“Sorry to spring this on you,” he said and the apology combined with his expression left Eurydike genuinely alarmed. But he continued, “I’m taking tonight and tomorrow off. To go to Kithira. Can't believe it's already almost midsummer! I completely lost track of time and forgot it’s my dad’s birthday tomorrow, so…”

Presumably, the apology was for how it was up to Eurydike to tell his boss that their god-born cash-cow was on vacation. That was not as tragic as Eurydike had expected, so he ignored it in favour of the last bit. He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Your father?”

“I didn’t come out of an egg,” said Orpheus haughtily.

“And your father has a… birthday?”

“My kind, wonderful, and  _ 100% mortal _ dad has a birthday, yes.”

Ah. Not shining Apollo’s bastard after all - the godhood ran on the mother’s side of the family then. There were enough rumours swirling around the musician, it was hard to keep track. Given how negatively Orpheus reacted to most of them, Eurydike couldn’t tell which - if any - were true.

Rather than pressing, Eurydike said, “What’s he like, your father?”

“The kind of man who worked long hours because no human court would convince a goddess to pay child support,” said Orpheus, a little more sharply than usual. “And then stayed up watching TED talks on classical music after, to have something to talk about with said child over breakfast.”

Put like that, Eurydike understood why his light-hearted teasing had been taken the wrong way. He switched tracks.

“You seem to be surrounded by people who aren’t much into music, o greatest musician of Greece,” he said, and was gratified to see Orpheus unwind and laugh.

“Yet just like you, he’s always happy to hear  _ me  _ play,” he said loftily. “But yeah, he’d rather watch football.”

“So is he the only one doing the noble sacrifice, or do you watch football for him too?”

“Ha! We’ve agreed on two violin concertos a year for me and two football matches a year for him. Except for when the Euro Cup or the World Cup are on. Those we both watch…” Orpheus paused delicately for a moment, then smirked. “Religiously.”

He whistled a few bars from the ‘68 Euro Cup anthem - the only Euro Cup anthem anyone actually remembered. Eurydike took his meaning clearly.

‘68 was the year Greece’s national team had done surprisingly well. Well enough, in fact, for the lady Athena to get overly excited and  _ inspire  _ Captain Zagorakis. Of course, then the French war god Caturix couldn’t let  _ his  _ players go unaided. And then it had turned into an all-out brawl. One referee had had the guts to give a red card to Ares himself. Rumour was he’d had to flee to Australia after the match - but their confrontation remained the most watched video on YouTube.

“It was a good day for Greece,” said Orpheus with satisfaction. There hadn't been another scandal on that level since then - at least not involving  _ their  _ gods - but Orpheus was far from the only one hoping for a repeat. Greece had beaten France 4-2. “What about you? You’re always busy it seems. What’s your idea of fun - apart from drinking coffee and making fun of me, of course.”

Humans always seemed to expect the answer to that to be some version of gardening, planting trees, or frolicking in meadows. The dryad shot Orpheus a level look.

“I like to read.”

“Yeah?” said Orpheus without missing a beat. “Mysteries, sci-fi? Don't say modern literature, everyone always says modern literature. Steamy romances?”

He waggled his eyebrows lavisciously.

“The thickest, dryest nonfiction I can find.”

Orpheus blinked.

“You’re the most hardworking person I’ve ever met,” he said admiringly. “Bring your book to the beach next time - you can read me the most boring bits.”

That… sounded really nice, actually. Peaceful. Solemnly, Eurydike nodded.

“I’ll put in sticky notes at all the most technical passages. As a bedtime story, if I ever want you to shut up and go to sleep.”

“Maybe I’ll pick up something for you in Kithira then. A nice, fat, dusty tome on music theory,” Orpheus teased back. “Then we can both fall asleep.”

“No, I’d like that,” said Eurydike, startling them both with his honesty. “I would like to understand it, even if I don’t feel it like you do.”

“Oh.” Orpheus ducked his head for a moment and then continued, chagrined, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can return the favour. To be honest, I can barely sit through a book about music. A book on the environment is… uh…”

He looked so worried, Eurydike had to laugh.

“I would never dream of forcing you to  _ read _ . You can listen to a song about the environment for me.”

Orpheus laughed too.

“ _ I bless the rains down in Africa? _ ”

“I’m sure you could compile a whole playlist if you tried.”

“I’ll send you the link,” promised Orpheus.

Then he hesitated, like he wanted to say something else. Something that wasn’t just teasing. Eurydike’s heart sped up, just a bit. It was nice that Orpheus had given up on his sunglasses - he didn’t look so irritatingly, effortlessly cool without them. Orpheus opened his mouth to speak, then swallowed, and closed it again. He grinned.

“Anyway, don’t worry, you won’t even have time to miss me!”

Orpheus winked and Eurydike rolled his eyes.

***

Except Eurydike  _ did _ miss him. Which was stupid, because he was only gone for the weekend, and Eurydike was busy as it was. He had time to sleep in. He had time to read. It had been enough for a while now: only work, and a few hours of reading for pleasure before and after. If Eurydike wanted to  _ relax _ , he’d go home for the holidays. …Although that wouldn’t have been relaxing at all. Just three months of justifying his decisions to a gaggle of siblings and teachers who had zero interest in the wider world.

No, Eurydike was glad to be out here instead: learning more, working hard, dreaming bigger than his own little tree. But now, suddenly, there was something more than even that.

On the third day, he showed up at dawn, though that was stupid too. Even if Orpheus took the first ferry from Kithira, he’d be here for brunch at the earliest. Unlike the musician, Eurydike couldn’t sleep on the beach during the day; he should grab his hours of rest when possible.

But when he came to the beach, there Orpheus was. Grinning, and the breeze playing through his hair, and rosy Dawn causing his eyes to shine. There were some duffel bags at his feet - he hadn’t even dropped by the hotel first. He jumped up the second he spotted Eurydike. Then he stuffed his hands in his pockets, as though that would make him look any more casual. There was a very stupid feeling in Eurydike’s stomach; the corners of his lips couldn’t seem to stop from quirking up.

“You’re early!”

“I couldn’t wait,” said Orpheus. “Came back with the earliest fishing boat. Isn’t that silly?”

Was silly any better than stupid? Probably not. But before he could make up his mind whether to tease Orpheus or shake his head no, Orpheus spoke again. And said what he’d been clearly meaning to say that other day, before he’d chickened out.

“May I kiss you?”

Eurydike’s breath hitched. He liked that Orpheus had asked, he decided. And he liked that he was waiting now, relaxed and patient, for his answer. They both knew what it was likely to be, since Eurydike had moved their meetings from the taverna to the beach. And yet Orpheus asked and waited. Eurydike almost considered saying no, just this one time, to hear the sweetness of Orpheus’ easy acquiescence.

But a kiss would be even sweeter.

“Yes.”

So Orpheus very carefully cupped Eurydike’s face in his hands, and Eurydike put his arms around him, and leaned down and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t drown in that brilliant, divine gold. The kiss was indeed as sweet as ambrosia.

***

Kissing Orpheus, it turned out, didn’t change all that much about their days. They still met every morning. Sometimes Eurydike would bring along his current book - a thousand pages on the history of humans’ relationship with the oceans - and Orpheus would take out his guitar and sing quietly, without holding himself to human standards. In the evenings, Eurydike found himself humming along to Orpheus’ songs. (Though not close enough for Orpheus to hear:  _ Eurydike  _ minded how off-key he was next to that perfect pitch, even if his… boyfriend didn’t.)

Their nights did change - the sweetest kind of change. Though maybe not often enough for either of them. They dawdled until all of Orpheus’ fans finally went home, and then headed to Eurydike’s tiny AirBnB, or Orpheus’ hotel room with the fluffy pillows, or even back down to the beach. But unlike Orpheus, Eurydike couldn’t nap at lunchtime. Even if they missed their meeting at dawn in favour of a rendezvous at night, his work started not long after. To be honest, it was frustrating - and surprising too, that he now found such things frustrating.

Still, Eurydike took his satisfaction in the fact that after a few such nights, whenever Orpheus’ boasts turned particularly outrageous, he could sigh, “O musician, if only someone could find a way to make you hold your wicked tongue.” And Orpheus would blush bright red, lick his lips, and shoot Eurydike the kind of look that had him hiding his own warm cheeks.

So yes, alright,  _ some  _ things about their days did change.

***

“Do you speak with all the voices of humankind, o seductive nymph with the lovely braids?” said Orpheus in admiration.

Eurydike snorted. He’d just helped a very confused Russian family, who for some reason had kept trying to speak to him in German, find their way to a tour agency. As his shift was just about ending, he stretched, then shoved Orpheus to make room for him on the sunbed. Orpheus’ arm hooked around his shoulders immediately.

“I speak with all the voices of tourists,” Eurydike replied. “Don’t you pick up some of their language? When they come up to ask for songs?”

“Not a word! It adds to my folksy appeal. And I’m not as clever as you.”

“You make up for it in other ways,” said Eurydike magnanimously, and let Orpheus tug him closer despite the late summer heat.

“So what language was that?”

“Russian.”

“Russian!” Orpheus exclaimed. “That’s far away. What do you think their gods are like?”

_ As crazy bastards as ours? _ he did not add out loud, but Eurydike had grown proficient in Orpheus-speak as well. He shook his head.

“I’ve heard they have at least two death-winter gods.”

Next to him, Orpheus winced. Eurydike was inclined to agree: the lady Demeter alone was harsh enough. The poor bastards.

“Speaking of the seasons though…” said Orpheus lightly; Eurydike stiffened anyway. Perhaps Orpheus felt his hesitation, for he unexpectedly said, “The summer’s nearly over and we still haven’t gone hiking!”

“Hiking,” repeated Eurydike incredulously.

“Hiking. We’re always at the beach, and when we’re not at the beach we’re at home. We’ve fallen into the rut of an old married couple, dear.”

Eurydike had several objections to that. The first of which was, “But why  _ hiking? _ ”

“Because I’m a tourist too. Technically. We’re, what, twenty kilometres from the southernmost point of continental Greece? And yet I’ve never been.  _ Please, boyfriend my _ ,” he added in truly horrific English, and while Eurydike was busy laughing at him, continued quietly with, “And I want to see your face when you’re not at work.”

That made Eurydike stand straight up, abruptly enough that Orpheus wobbled, off-balance.

“I’m sorry - ” he started immediately.

“Don’t.”

In many ways, thought Eurydike dimly, Orpheus was closer to his siblings than he was to him. He worked hard, of course: whatever talents his mother had given him, he would still have been only  _ divine  _ and not  _ good  _ without his own sweat. And he enjoyed being called best of Greeks - who wouldn’t? But he had no particular ambitions. If tomorrow, the whole Greek music scene moved on to someone else, he’d shrug and laugh. As long as at least one person wanted to listen to him play, Orpheus was content.

Eurydike had no particular interest in being called the best either. But he had drive. He wouldn’t have bothered leaving his calm, quiet grove without it. 

And it wasn’t really about this job - he didn’t give a fuck about waitering tables, particularly - but it  _ was _ about Eurydike and work in general. How much effort he put in when it wasn't even something he liked, and what they were going to do when Persephone descended to the underworld and Eurydike stopped having time at dawn.

But Orpheus had stopped when Eurydike asked him to. He was still calmly, patiently waiting for his response. And the summer wasn’t quite over  _ yet _ .

“Alright,” Eurydike said as though he was pronouncing his own doom. “Okay, let’s go hiking.”

The earth shook beneath him, or maybe it was just Orpheus knocking him over with his delighted pounce.

***

“And?” said Eurydike.

“And it turns out the southernmost point of continental Greece looks about the same as any old point in continental Greece,” admitted Orpheus. “But you look cute in a baseball cap so I’m glad we came.”

Eurydike huffed, but didn’t resist when Orpheus reached up to tug lightly at said hat and then to tug him more firmly into a kiss. The sun was warm on his skin; Orpheus’ lips were warm against his. Somewhere up above, a gull called and somewhere down below, the waves crashed upon the cliff. It was, Eurydike had to admit, a perfect moment.

So naturally Orpheus ruined it.

“Can I come with you to Athens?”

Eurydike couldn’t have felt colder if Orpheus had dumped a bucket of water over him. It was a natural continuation of their last conversation. Except for once, Orpheus wasn’t backing down. Oh, when Eurydike wrenched out of his grasp, Orpheus let go of him immediately. But no apologies tumbled from those soft lips and his golden eyes stayed locked on Eurydike.

“Did you bring me here just to seduce me with salt water and sun?” spat Eurydike. 

His face started burning before he’d even reached the end of the sentence. The overly dramatic words had just tumbled out. (Orpheus had rubbed off on him…) But he didn’t take them back. What else was the point of asking him here? 

Orpheus shook his head wildly.

“No!” he said. “I just wanted to have a good day with you. Like I said: I wanted to spend time together that wasn't surrounded by work. Either one last good day before the summer ends or the first of thousands. That's up to you. But…” At last, a sign of vulnerability - his fingers twitched. “I'd like to come with you to Athens.”

Orpheus’ fingers twitched as if they were playing an arpeggio on his lyre. Eurydike knew what an arpeggio was now. He knew what Orpheus’ fingers looked like when they played an arpeggio and he knew what uncertain fingers meant. He knew… 

“And how exactly will Athens work, Orpheus?” said Eurydike. “I come back tired from classes to a song?”

“If you’d like,” agreed Orpheus readily. “But not like that. I go to Athens near every winter anyway - there’s plenty of places to play while the rain pours down. I’m not asking for you to promise me forever, Eurydike. I’m asking for a  _ chance _ .”

And then he shoved his hands into his pockets, to silence the arpeggios.

Look, Eurydike read a lot of non-fiction - he’d read about feminism. The first waves, spearheaded by Artemis and Athena, ready for a scuffle and eager to shove human women into the world of men. And then a later wave, coaxed into existence by Hera goat-eater: a seething resentment that a woman had to choose between work and love.

No such poem of justice had ever been written for nymphs. They'd never been required. But Eurydike had understood the human women’s pamphlets keenly.

And why not?!

The thought was full of a heady exhilaration. He’d wanted to dream bigger than his own little tree. He’d managed it: a whole life-time of hard work and ambitions and struggle. Now he wanted to dream bigger still. A chance to come home to a loved one after the hard work and ambitions and struggle… Just a chance. Eurydike’s heart hammered loud in his chest.

Why else had he come here, if not because he wished to be seduced by salt water and sun?

“Alright,” said Eurydike, caving like he’d caved to every one of Orpheus’ mad whims. “Come with me to Athens, then.”

As speeches went, it wasn’t particularly flirtatious, and Eurydike’s smile was more apprehensive than coy. Orpheus’ returning grin blinded the sun.

A second perfect moment in one day was one too many. Orpheus opened his mouth to speak. 

And that’s when the ground beneath Eurydike gave out.

Eurydike tumbled and tumbled and tumbled, and the earth around him groaned, and the smell of salt choked him. There was a sharp pain in his head. There was a sharp pain  _ everywhere _ . Some blasphemies the gods wouldn’t forgive even their favourites. He didn’t even have a second to scream.

He just died.


	2. PART II.

There wasn't supposed to be an earthquake in Greece today. Orpheus had triple checked the weather forecast last night. Although, could humans even predict earthquakes? Dryads would be able to feel something wrong in the earth, surely.

Dryads… 

And then his mind registered what had happened and the sound that left Orpheus' mouth was inhuman. He slipped and skidded down the mountain side. To where Eurydike lay, broken among the rocks. His baseball cap was gone.

Orpheus’ mind was a buzzing refrain of  _ no _ .

He fell to his knees in front of Eurydike. His hands hovered, uncertain - what if, what  _ if _ \- but no. The eyes were blank; already, there were leaves budding in the hair, under the fingertips. Soon, a handsome tree would grow here, on the southernmost tip of continental Greece. There was nothing his hands could make worse.

And then Orpheus was clutching Eurydike close to him, and trying not to howl. There were hot, wet tears on his face. When had he started crying?

He’d said  _ alright _ . He’d said  _ yes. _

What the fuck. What the  _ fuck?! _

Orpheus was already on his knees. He turned to the only place he could think of.

“Mother, p-please. Chief of the muses, clear-voiced Calliope, Zeus’ daughter, your son begs you -  _ please _ .”

He blinked and she was in front of him. She looked his age; soon she would look younger than him. There was little place to stand on this rocky nook of death, and so she stood in the air, arms crossed before her. Her divinely perfect face was divinely perfectly ambivalent. But she  _ had  _ shown up and she’d only shown up once before. Orpheus would work with what he got. He’d take anything right now.

He should wipe his tears, look less pathetic before the goddess. He should clasp her knees and beg properly like in the old poems. He couldn’t let Eurydike go.

“Mother, th-thank you, I - ”

Calliope sighed.

“Honestly, Orpheus, what did you expect?”

“...Expect?” he repeated blankly.

The buzz of  _ no _ ’s in his ears had dulled only a little.

“He was important to Lady Gaea,” said Calliope, her voice a bored drawl. “An ambassador of sorts, from the earth itself to those polluting it. How many nymphs do you think want to live among humans, hm? Want to work with them to change things? And along comes my son with his guitar.”

What was his mother saying?

“But he… but I would never have…”

Orpheus felt slow and stupid and small. He had called upon his mother thinking it was a whim of the Fates. What had he wanted from her? For a magic word to reverse time? For a motherly hand on his brow, soothing words in his ear?

“We were just…”

Instead he was being told… The words finally clicked together in his brain.  _ He was being told this was a goddess’ murder. _

What the fuck.

And over what? Orpheus had hoped for sunrise coffees and long peaceful evenings in bed, not for Eurydike to become his fucking devoted groupie. Loving each other was supposed to be an  _ and  _ to their other passions, not an  _ or _ . Only the gods would see it as such.

“It’s my fault,” he said numbly.

“It most certainly is,” agreed Calliope. “And I’ll hear no end of it from the others. ‘Calliope, did you see what your little rock star did n - ’”

“How do I fix it?”

His mother drew herself up, affronted. Nobody interrupted goddesses.

“How do you fix  _ death? _ ” she hissed. “You don’t, mortal.”

Oh, that stung - another tiny droplet almost lost amidst the overwhelming downpour of pain. Her eyes were the same colour he saw everyday in the mirror; the rest of her was forever foreign to him. But Eurydike was dead, and it was his fault, and Orpheus had to try.

“There must be something,” he said. “ _ Anything. _ ”

At last, a flinch. Orpheus had received almost nothing from his godly parent: no immortality or great strength. But when he stopped concentrating for a moment, when he let down his defenses completely, his voice  _ rang _ . Orpheus sounded more divine than the chief of the muses herself.

His mother rejected him time and time and time again. He was pleased to reject her right back. (He loathed the sound of his real voice.) But he was still her son.

Calliope hesitated for a long moment.

Finally she spoke, slow and low, “I suppose you could… try taking it to Lord Hades. Perhaps he’ll have a better answer for you. He  _ is  _ your…” she frowned, calculating it. “Great-uncle, I suppose.”

The lord of the dead, the ruler of many… Orpheus’ whole body shuddered. His fingers beat out a short, uneven rhythm - and then he realised the wooden noise was from Eurydike’s skin. The dryad’s face was already near hidden under bark and leaves. Orpheus swallowed his bile. The lord of the dead it was.

“What do I have to do?”

Orpheus’ voice continued to ring; Calliope continued to speak as if in a trance. Her eyes bore into his, gold to gold.

“You are in luck. There’s a cave nearby - a statue of his brother, earth-shaker Poseidon, stands before it. Spill blood at the entrance to the cave and speak out,” and here, she taught him the words to open a path into death. “And walk inside.” Calliope’s shoulders hitched into a tiny shrug. “Beyond that, you’re on your own. Sing and dance for him, or beg, or drive whatever foolish bargain you want.”

It was more than he had ever expected from her. 

“Thank you, Mother,” Orpheus said - voice hushed and thus no longer divine.

The moment broke. A voice too human had claimed kinship. Calliope flicked her dress, purging herself of the detestful familial bond. Suddenly, Orpheus was once more just a lowly mortal on the ground before the chief of the muses. There were still tear tracks on his face. She rolled her eyes: the very picture of a goddess exasperated with a grasping man.

“Well, don’t say I’ve never done anything for you,” she drawled.

This time, the hurt was more than a droplet.

“That you’ve never…”

Perhaps the old poets were right when they said the gods moved through you. Orpheus’ voice had never sounded like this to his ears before. Distant, and laced through with dissonance.  _ What did you expect? _ Maybe the goddess of strife was whispering in his ear. Or even her brother Ares. If someone put a spear in his hand, he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t throw it - at anyone, at everyone. Bitter and ugly, the words burst out of him before he could think them through.

“What  _ exactly _ have you done for us?” he seethed. He choked on the unfairness of it all. “You and all your divine stock. We’re not safe from any of you! Not even from the very ea - ”

He cut off - Calliope had slapped a palm over his mouth. She’d moved so fast he hadn’t even seen her. As she loomed over him, her eyes weren’t ambivalent anymore.

“Remember, mortal,  _ where you stand _ ,” she hissed.

And Orpheus  _ was  _ only mortal; of course he trembled. But the earth that had killed Eurydike was still. Orpheus wasn’t a brilliant, tenacious dryad determined to change the world, just a lovesick musician. He was too far below Lady Gaea’s notice.

They stayed locked like that: Calliope’s hand covering his mouth as she waited for him to lower his eyes before her. And Eurydike between them. It was the first time his mother had ever touched him. Her hand was cool and soft - no musician’s callouses on her palm or fingers.

Except Orpheus couldn’t blink first. If he backed down before the muse, he would back down before the lord of the dead. He couldn’t do that. He’d never even told Eurydike he loved him.

Finally Calliope sighed, disgusted, and let go of him.

“Fine, stubborn whelp. Go - sing, or beg, or scream at Lord Hades and be crushed. I don’t care.” She gave her pitiful son one last long look. “But Orpheus? If you sing, stick to the classics.”

And then she was gone.

***

He stayed with Eurydike long enough for the dryad’s old tree to wither and die in some far-away grove, and his body to grow roots into the ground, and a fine young olive tree to sprout in this unhappy, rocky spot of southernmost Greece. He touched the bark one last time. Then he went to get his metaphorical axe.

***

Carefully, he took out the lyre from underneath the hotel bed. Until today, it had been his mother’s one and only gift. Now the gifts were two: the instrument and words to walk into death. Orpheus usually kept it stored neatly in his father’s cupboard - honestly, a  _ lyre _ \- but he’d brought it along from his short trip home.

The lyre was beautiful of course. Perhaps it had been crafted by Hephaestus, on behalf of one of his mother’s odd whims. Elegant, pale, always a little warm to the touch - was it really made of tortoise shell? - and with a matching pick for strumming. The soft, delighted smile on Eurydike’s face had made Orpheus want to play it for the very first time.

He’d brought it for the sole reason of showing it off to his lover. And Eurydike had been enthralled. Orpheus had teased him that maybe a guitar was just too modern a sound for a dryad to comprehend. Eurydike had teased him back that maybe Orpheus simply wasn’t good enough to make his usual mistakes on a divine instrument. 

He swung its delicate leather strap over his shoulder. The divine instrument sat awkwardly on his hip.

After a moment’s hesitation, Orpheus picked up his guitar case and strapped it to his back too. Doubtless his mother was right: the lord of the dead would have as little patience for  _ Stairway to Heaven _ as a guitar shop owner. But the weight of it was comforting.

Into one pocket he shoved a penknife - for the blood sacrifice.

Right, he was ready. Orpheus took a deep breath, preparing himself. As he hesitated, he spied himself in the mirror.

A sudden flood of shame washed over him. What the fuck was he  _ doing? _ With the sleeves of his second best shirt rolled up, and the flamboyant stickers on his guitar case, and a god’s lyre on his hip. He had outfitted himself for  _ war _ , like he was Patroclus trying to save his beloved before the gates of Troy.

He hadn’t worn his sunglasses in weeks. His eyes were still rimmed red. Who the fuck did he think he was?

Well.

He was a musician.

He was a musician and he was off to give a performance.

Nerves could be useful sometimes. Orpheus knew many veteran performers felt tense before every single show. Some even claimed they liked it: it kept them on their toes. Theoretically, Orpheus understood that.

But Orpheus had never had stage fright in his life. He allowed himself one harsh breath - almost a sob, except a sob he would  _ not _ allow. And then he was Orpheus again: Orpheus, the best musician in Greece, who didn’t have a YouTube channel because he lived to perform live. His reflection grinned back at him.

He nodded at it and walked out the door.

***

The hike back to the southernmost tip of Greece was less fun the second time; it was dusk by the time he arrived. But he found the cave easily enough. 

The cave entrance itself was thoroughly ordinary. It was… dark?

But Orpheus knew it was the right spot. As his mother had said, a statue of earth-shaking Poseidon stood before it. It had once surely been magnificent: finely carved and towering over Orpheus from twice his height. But it was withered and old, perhaps old enough to have been made in the era before Democratic Athens. The Gods’ Era. The paint on it had long since peeled.

Seeing the exposed white marble flesh made Orpheus skin crawl; it was like seeing the god nude. Where were the priests and the historians, to venerate and restore something so clearly ancient? Why had Lord Poseidon allowed such disrespect to remain on his brother’s doorstep?

Orpheus was distracting himself. He wasn't here for the earth-shaker.

Right.

Last chance to back down. To obey the gods’ will. To go home and compose the sweetest mourning song in the world, one that would ensure Eurydike’s name was remembered long after Orpheus’ was gone.

Yeah, right. Maybe at the start of the summer he would have - too bad responsible Eurydike had left such an impression.

With his little knife, he cut shallowly into his wrist, where the wound wouldn’t hinder his playing too much. Human sacrifice was a very ancient ritual, anathema to the gods in these enlightened times. By rights it should have been a hecatomb… But Orpheus didn’t have time to gather up all the livestock required.

And perhaps these drops were worth that of a hundred oxen. Why was there a statue of Poseidon here? Orpheus had never cared enough for history or religion to be able to hazard a guess now. Regardless: here was one of Lord Hades’ doorsteps, and on it stood his brother Lord Poseidon, and now the ground was spattered with Orpheus’ blood - the diluted blood of Lord Zeus himself.

He let his voice ring as he spoke the words his mother had taught him: simple, old, and powerful. In response, the cold wind of death rushed through him.

Orpheus blinked and the cave entrance was no longer ordinary. Ornate, flowery torches roared bright on either side of it. He could see into the tunnel now too: a gentle slope down, lit by the steady, dull glow of oil lamps. The tunnel’s walls were smooth. That was all, but it was enough. Orpheus had been in Athens during the holy Panathenaia Festival; he had just been in the presence of a goddess. He’d never felt this terrifying, divine weight before.

The blood and the words had opened a path to death for the living.

He didn’t dare turn around to see what change had come upon the statue. Eurydike was waiting for him. Orpheus strode into the dim light.

***

Presently, he became aware of a growling noise. Something further down the path was unhappy he was here. Orpheus squared his shoulders. Then he laughed and consciously relaxed his posture again. He wasn’t a demigod warrior. Whatever monster lurked beyond, he wasn’t going to  _ fight  _ it.

He did play a few warm-up chords on the lyre as he walked. The divine instrument didn’t need to be tuned before a performance, but his fingers weren’t so lucky. The notes hung oddly in the air: echoing off the walls and harmonising with themselves. 

The growling stopped. An intense silence of perked ears replaced it. Well! Wonderful acoustics, in this tunnel to death, and its monster was a musical connoisseur. 

Orpheus shook out his hands, winced as the wound on his wrist complained (why had he brought a guitar and not bandages!), and started up a jaunty walking song.

He was still playing and singing when the tunnel widened abruptly into a large hall. A double row of pillars lined its sides. The pillars stretched far further up than they should have - the path’s declension had  _ not  _ felt that steep - and the sudden vastness made Orpheus feel dizzy. The oil lamps were replaced once more by dazzling torches. Orpheus squinted in their light.

Many paths branched from that hall, but Orpheus would have to figure them out later. Ahead of him sat the monster.

Its paws were easily the size of his head; its teeth were sharp and its fur dark. It was three-headed. Six ears listened attentively as Orpheus finished his song with an unfortunate, unattractive squawk. This was Cerberus, of course, the guardian of death, who Herakles had once wrestled with.

The dog - if a creature so terrifying could be called a dog - looked thoroughly unimpressed. It looked even less impressed when the musician failed to start up a new tune immediately. Briefly, Orpheus contemplated the wisdom of playing  _ Who Let the Dogs Out _ . 

_ But Orpheus? If you sing, stick to the classics. _

He played Sappho instead.

Orpheus would never admit it out loud, but it was thrilling. Better than performing at a seaside taverna or even at a summer rock festival. Orpheus sat cross-legged before a monster, in death, and played without mistakes. His voice rang out clearly and echoed further; his grandfather’s lightning danced in his veins. The dog thumped its tail - only one of them, but snake-like - enthusiastically. Orpheus was  _ good _ .

For a moment, Orpheus entertained himself with the notion that the dog was a romantic. That there was a Lady Cerberus out there who Cerberus remembered when Orpheus sang of  _ love, the limb-loosener, rattling me bittersweet, irresistible, a crawling beast. _

And then thoughts of his own love consumed him. Eurydike… Was he somewhere close? Did Orpheus’ melody carry far enough?  _ A crawling beast…  _ Could Eurydike hear him? Did Orpheus  _ want  _ him to hear, when he wasn’t yet sure if his wild plan would succeed?

If he didn’t succeed… 

Orpheus closed his eyes and threw himself into the music so he wouldn’t have to think any further.

***

Enthusiastic clapping brought him out of his reverie. Orpheus had gone through much of Sappho and had snuck in a tiny bit of Elton John, and the result was a happily sprawled-out dog, its tail wagging lazily. A tall woman stood near Cerberus. Her hair was pinned up in that most ancient style that had recently become trendy again; her dress was very simple. She was grinning at Orpheus as she clapped.

“That was beautifully done!” she said. “Welcome, stranger.”

Was this a human shade or some sort of nymph? Whoever she was, she did not fear the guardian of death. She sat down gracefully beside the dog and gave him an affectionate pat. Cautiously, Orpheus lowered his lyre. He relaxed further when Cerberus didn’t so much as twitch.

The woman smelled of spring. Like Eurydike did. A nymph then, probably, though he had never heard of death’s nymphs. Then again, Orpheus didn’t pay much attention to the gods. Unless it was football-related. Awkward due to the lyre in his lap, he nonetheless swept an extravagant, stage-ready bow; it was better to be on the safe side.

“Thank you very much!” He smiled back at her. “My name is Orpheus. I’m glad my music appeals.”

The nymph - or human shade, or whoever - nodded eagerly.

“It most certainly does! We do not visit Olympus often, but  _ not often _ is often enough in eternity. I have heard your mother and the other muses perform before. You are much more exciting!”

Orpheus’ stomach dropped. Definitely not a human shade, when she spoke of the gods’ home so casually. Maybe not even a nymph. She knew him and she knew his mother. Who  _ was _ she? He licked his lips, edging his way forward with someone who suddenly seemed far more dangerous than the dog.

“That’s, ah, very kind - ”

A noise behind them, and Orpheus spun around. He looked up.

“Oh, perfect! Darling, this is the musician I was telling you about!” said the woman.

A man with wild dark hair loomed over them both. His expression was hard to tell under his equally wild beard; his eyes glittered in the torchlight. He was dressed as simply as the woman.

Orpheus went very, very still. No mortal could fail to recognise the lord of the dead. Even here,  _ especially _ here, Orpheus quavered to think his very name. The rich one, the glorious one, the other Zeus. The one who bid all welcome in the end - except Orpheus had come unbid.

The nymph - no, not the nymph -  _ Lady Persephone _ stood and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek.

“Did you hear him sing too?” she gushed. “Very romantic and quite well done, I thought.”

“Very romantic,” Lord Hades confirmed wryly.

Orpheus shuddered.

The priests claimed the gods were still very strict on the old codes, and Orpheus assumed they’d know. Hospitality rights were very important to them. Lady Persephone herself had bid him welcome - he could consider himself safe from any immediate wrath at his trespassing. And even the mightiest gods would hesitate to reject a proper supplicant: on their knees, reaching up to touch the lord’s chin with one hand and grasping his legs with the other.

Looking into death’s eyes, Orpheus had absolutely no qualms showing obeisance. But he was better at singing than at talking. So instead of shifting to his knees, he sprung up and held his head high.

“I’ve come to ask for an audience, lord,” he said before his nerves could fail him.

The lord of the dead cocked an eyebrow and Orpheus swallowed hard. Lady Persephone had recognised him. He had the feeling her husband knew  _ exactly  _ what outrageous request Orpheus had come here with. But he’d already stared down his mother today. There was no going back.

“I see. Not many people come to the underworld for that,” Lord Hades remarked. “And just to be clear, musician, will I be listening to your music or your begging?”

“Darling!” chided Lady Persephone. “There is no need to be rude to our  _ guest _ .”

“Both, I hope,” said Orpheus firmly. “But I would rather perform first.”

A second of silence while Orpheus’ knees trembled, and then the lord let out an undignified snort. 

“You’ve charmed my dog and you’ve charmed my wife,” he said. “So I suppose you have the right to attempt to charm me. Come along.”

It was as simple as that. The lord of the dead swept down one of the many paths leading away from the hall. Orpheus gaped after him. His heart was still thumping loud in his chest. Lady Peresephone patted his arm, rather like she had the dog.

“You’ll be fine,” she assured him. She flicked her fingers and a bandage of vines sprouted in her hand. This she tied snugly around Orpheus’ wound. “He’s depressingly tone-deaf and really not that picky.”

Orpheus laughed weakly.

“If you say so, lady.”

And thus Orpheus let himself be dragged along after her husband, leaving Cerberus drowsing behind them.

***

It was lucky for Orpheus that the lord and lady had found him in their foyer. He could  _ not  _ have navigated his way down the twisting passages to their throne hall. He doubted very much he could manage his way back alone. That definitely ruled out Plan B: Find Eurydike, Grab Eurydike,  _ Run _ .

He thought he heard quiet whispering as he scurried along after the gods, maybe even saw glimpses of shadows. But apart from that it was empty. Quiet. Orpheus wasn’t sure if he should be glad of that. A crowd could be easier to perform for than an individual - though admittedly he was thinking of rowdy bar patrons, not chthonic gods and other denizens of death. Then again, he had already met the most terrifying beings here.

In the hall itself the overwhelming impression was of emptiness. Large, shadowed, still. Timeless and ancient. It was more cave-like, with craggy walls, than anything else he’d seen of death. Somewhere far away, he could hear water rushing. Two thrones stood in the hall and not much else. In one throne sat the lord, face impassive; the other was carved with flowers that resembled the torches at the cave entrance. Lady Persephone patted Orpheus’ arm one last time and headed towards it. With a jolt, Orpheus realised that the tunnel he had used was the one she walked twice a year.

Summer was only just fading. She must have arrived here only shortly before him, and looking down at his neatly bandaged wrist, he was overwhelmingly grateful for it. Orpheus felt very small and alone in the middle of this cavernous hall. But he knew what song he wanted to start with now.

He swung his guitar case down, shook out his fingers, and swept his performer’s bow again. When he popped back up, Lord Hades nodded briskly.

“You may begin.”

So Orpheus began. It was a song unfitting for the seasons: a jubilant prayer for spring’s return. But the lady had kissed the lord so casually and tenderly. (Maybe after many years he and Eurydike would share moments like that - he tamped the thought down before it distracted him.) Surely, down here, such a hymn of joy was most fitting for the autumn. As the light, merry notes drifted towards the thrones, Orpheus was gratified to see Lady Persephone’s smile broaden into a dazzling grin.

It took until Orpheus began to sing, voice ringing out clearly, for similar recognition to flit across the lord’s face. He flung up a hand and Orpheus stilled the strings immediately. The calm that had settled over him, the calm of a truly brilliant performance, was swept away with one gesture from the god. Orpheus felt sick. He shoved his hands behind him so his twitching fingers couldn’t play an errant note.

“We are not in a temple,” said the lord simply. “Play another.”

“Darling!” huffed Lady Persephone.

But the lord was immovable.

“You are a musician, not a priest.  _ Another. _ ”

Lady Persephone’s lips were pressed together tightly. Unfortunately, Orpheus was not here to impress the goddess of spring. Eurydike’s fate lay in the lord’s hands. So:

“One thousand apologies,” said Orpheus, and, “At once.”

Alright, no hymns then.  _ Stick to the classics _ , his mother had said, and inwardly Orpheus cursed the unfairness of the gods once more: most of the classics  _ were  _ hymns. But he was best of the Greeks, was he not? He was wielding a god’s instrument; Eurydike was counting on him. He’d find something that appealed. Orpheus strummed the lyre once more and threw himself into the music.

He did not find something that appealed.

“You already played that one to my dog. Play another.”

“Homer himself resides in these halls - you do not have his gift of improvisation. Another.”

“If I wished to hear a muse play, I would go up to Olympus. Another.”

“Another, musician.”

“ _ Another. _ ”

Soon enough, Orpheus was furious, terrified, and exhilarated. He hadn’t been allowed to finish a single song.

Orpheus had  _ never  _ met someone as resistant to his music as the lord. If Eurydike’s life - death? - hadn't hung in the balance, if Lord Hades had been not a god but a normal human patron, Orpheus would have happily stood here day and night until he cracked the code.

The lady had said her husband was not exacting. Orpheus would have counted that as another goddess’ betrayal if she hadn’t looked as incensed as he felt. His latest attempt was halted five notes in and finally, she erupted.

“Shut up and let him play already!”

Oh  _ gods _ . Orpheus ducked his head. But the lord didn’t even blink.

“Not while his playing remains subpar,” he said and the words landed on Orpheus like a blow.

“ _ Subpar?!  _ You couldn’t tell if a note was wrong if he hit you over the head with his lyre.”

“Yet I can tell  _ this _ .”

“You cannot take your bad mood out on him.”

“I am not!”

“Darling - ”

“I know summer grows longer every year, but surely that distance is not so great for us. Will you not trust me?”

The lady gave an exasperated, exhausted sigh, but Orpheus didn’t hear her reply. He couldn’t hear anything over the blood thrumming in his ears. In one of the hall’s dark shadows, pressed tight against the wall, he had spotted a familiar face.

Eurydike looked pale, and ethereal, and very alarmed. At least he was no longer covered in bark and leaves. 

_ What the fuck are you doing?  _ mouthed Eurydike.

What the fuck  _ was _ Orpheus doing? A lousy job, it seemed. And yet Eurydike had heard him. Eurydike had made his way through the labyrinth of death to find him as he had tried to find Eurydike. Had he been guided here by Orpheus’  _ subpar playing?  _ Orpheus looked away, ashamed to meet his lover’s gaze.

What galled him most was that he wasn’t even losing on his own terms. He had followed the muse’s guidance to the letter - and he had excelled at it. But Orpheus didn’t  _ like  _ playing this way: he hated the sound of his natural voice and he was luke-warm about the godly lyre. Simply put, he didn’t like being god-born. The only time it had ever brought him pleasure was over sunrise coffees, when voice and lyre had made Eurydike’s eyes go wide with wonder in the most flattering way. Lord Hades was too great a god himself to be pleased by such trifles.

Finally, it clicked. Orpheus almost laughed. Could the answer to the lord’s riddle be that embarrassingly simple? It was worth a shot at least. If this was the last time he saw Eurydike, he wanted his boyfriend to remember him by something better than a  _ subpar _ imitation of his mother.

Orpheus met Eurydike’s eyes squarely and gave him a sloppy wink. In response, Eurydike groaned silently. For some reason, Orpheus’ best ideas tended to bring out that reaction from him. And yet a small smile hovered on the dryad’s lips. For the second time in one day, Orpheus interrupted a goddess.

“One thousand - two thousand - no, ten thousand apologies!” he called. “You were right in your assessment, lord. I ask for just one more chance.”

“You are not the one who should apologise here,” grumbled Lady Persephone. But quietly: she _did_ trust her husband. The argument had been won in his favour.

Lord Hades took his time in deciding, and Orpheus’ sweated under his assessing gaze. At last, though, he said, “Neither of us need apologise, I think. But this  _ is _ the last chance, musician.”

Orpheus bowed to the god.

He gently put the lyre on the ground and picked up his battered old guitar. He spent a few seconds tuning the strings. And then, because he did genuinely enjoy the classics, he played the Seikilos Epitaph.

All the music he had tried so far had been touched by the divine. Melodies on their own did not live that long. Sappho’s lyrics were well known, yes, but if he could play even a few notes as she had intended them, it was because a goddess had hummed some bars to a human millennia after her passing. The Seikilos Epitaph was different. It was the oldest complete musical composition that had survived purely among humans.

It had been written down by Seikilos on the grave of his beloved. An ode to the dead. Orpheus sang it now for Eurydike and let his grief flow into the notes.

He sang it like he usually did. He added chords when the original had none - and fucked them up to make Eurydike smile. It sounded better on the guitar than the lyre, he thought, and it sounded better when he kept his voice mortal. Orpheus sang with his eyes closed.

He opened them only when the last notes had been swallowed up by that great hall. Eurydike’s eyes shone with tears; Lady Persephone’s overflowed. Hesitantly, his whole body tense as a lyre string, Orpheus turned to the god of the dead. He found Lord Hades smiling.

“That was excellently done, nephew.”

Oh, thank fuck. Relief poured into him - followed by a bolt of pure fear when the last word registered. Lord Hades was Lord Zeus’ brother - his grandfather’s brother - his great-uncle. No, nope, no. Calliope had said it too, but doubtfully. To be actually claimed as kin by the lord of the dead was absolutely terrifying. 

Eurydike’s face mirrored his own incredulity and panic; that gave him enough strength to murmur his shaky thanks to his great-unc - to the god. Lord Hades looked unrepentant; Lady Persephone actually laughed at him as she wiped away her tears.

“Now that  _ both  _ of us are enjoying ourselves,” said Lord Hades. “Will you not continue? Another, please.”

So Orpheus played as he had played at Taverna Argonautica all summer: a little of this, a little of that, with only hints of divinity. His favourite Queen songs; two movements on the lyre from _The_ _Rite of Spring_ , dedicated to a distant goddess; a recent Eurovision song that had forcefully reminded everyone that Cyprus was laughing Aphrodite’s birthplace. When the lord held up his hand once more, Orpheus let the last notes drift away peacefully.

“The underworld has not had a night like this in eons,” said Lady Persephone quietly. At some point during his performance, her hand had reached out to hold her husband’s. “Thank you.”

Lord Hades nodded.

“I am glad to finally experience the music my wife has raved about the last five autumns,” he said drily. Before Orpheus could process  _ that _ , he continued, “But you did not come down here simply to entertain your relatives. What reward do you seek, o musician?”

Orpheus’ fingers beat out a wild staccato on the guitar. His eyes met his lover’s.

“I ask you to release the dryad Eurydike back into the world of the living.”

Eurydike let out a loud gasp. Immediately, he clapped his hand over his mouth - too late. Surely the lord and lady had noted his presence before, but now they were unable to ignore it. Eurydike shrank under the weight of their bright, heavy gazes.

“H-hail, Lord Hades, Lady Persephone,” he managed. And then, in a rush: “Please don’t listen to my dumbass boyfriend, he doesn’t really get - ”

Lady Persephone pressed a finger to her lips and Eurydike shut up.

His boyfriend was the smartest person Orpheus had ever met. Had he truly not realised what Orpheus was here for? Or perhaps he had thought Orpheus might back down in the end - not knowing that Eurydike was the only one he had ever backed down for. Unfortunately, there was no time to ask. Lord Hades sighed deeply.

“Not asking for much, are you?” he said. “Come, nephew. We will discuss the matter privately.”

He kissed his wife’s hand. Then, before Orpheus could do more than flash one last nervous grin at Eurydike, the lord of the dead swept him out of the hall.

***

The room Orpheus was led to could be nothing other than Lord Hades’ study. The mind boggled. It did not fit in the slightest with anything else Orpheus had seen of death: cramped, modern, and overflowing with  _ stuff _ . Most of it paper.

“Lord…” said Orpheus, wondering whether this was the part where he should actually kneel.

But the lord only ushered him to sit behind a very sensible desk. (Orpheus supposed he could always dive under it later.) It was full of clutter, and a Mac, and a few photos of the lord and the lady grinning from some sunny beach. Orpheus had never worked an office job in his life, but he recognised the idea from TV shows. A small part of him wondered whether the lord had gotten it from the same place. The rest of him was trying hard to still his fidgeting hands. This was it.

The lord of the dead fiddled with a pen and spoke slowly.

“So, nephew, I am not sure you realise what you are asking for.”

No, Orpheus knew exactly what he was asking for. A life whose thread had been cut far too short because a petty, jealous goddess was unhappy she’d been given half and not all. One life: just one small life amidst the billions; just one invaluable, priceless life. He kept silent.

But Orpheus had been told he had a very expressive face; Lord Hades sighed.

“You see, by rights, I should not be letting anyone escape death these days.” Orpheus blanched but Lord Hades went on. “ _ But _ by rights, my grandmother Gaea should not be murdering people these days either.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It has all gone political very quickly. My brother Poseidon, master of seas and earthquakes, feels that our grandmother is treading far too closely to his domain. My niece Artemis has taken one of Eurydike’s sisters into her hunt and so is now championing his cause on her behalf.”

“Naturally, my mother Rhea and (even worse)  _ Persephone’s  _ mother Demeter support our grandmother. My brother Zeus’ - or should I say, your grandfather Zeus’? - mind is not made up yet. In principle, our grandmother’s overreach should infuriate him. On the other hand, he might be in one of his wife-appeasing moods; as my sister-in-law Hera is  _ not  _ your grandmother, she is unlikely to favour you. My nephew Ares is just itching for a brawl, of course.”

“Simply put: it is a tense situation even without you and your guitar.”

Noting Orpheus’ wide eyes and pale face, Lord Hades laughed. But not unkindly.

“Welcome to the family, little nephew.”

Alright, fine, Orpheus didn’t know exactly what he was asking for. One thread always snagged onto thousands in that greatest of tapestries. It was far larger than a mortal could grasp. 

And still: “I’ll do anything, lord.”

“I know,” said Lord Hades, equally quiet. 

They sat in silence as the god thought. Orpheus had leaned his guitar on the chair. He wished badly he could pluck at the strings while he waited. Orpheus didn’t exactly love silence. Instead, he kept his hands in his lap and tried hard not to think about lazy, comfortable dawns with Eurydike, who didn’t mind the chaotic murmur of strings while he read. He tried especially hard not to think about how the god before him, with his golden eyes and spinning pen, felt both otherworldly and too familiar.

At last, the god spoke. “No, it will have to be a trick.”

His voice turned suddenly deep and sonorous, a death knell, and his eyes so bright it hurt to meet them. A chill wind swept through Orpheus once more.

“For your great love and for the good Eurydike may still do in the world, I annul my grandmother’s will. I will allow Eurydike to return to the world of the living. But for your hubris, nephew, it will be harder for you to do the same. As you walked in, you shall lead Eurydike out. Yet should you hesitate and turn to see if he still follows, you will take his place in the underworld. So I declare it.”

The weight of the god’s command fell on Orpheus. It sunk deep into his very bones, even as Lord Hades cloaked his power once more. But inside, Orpheus’ heart was light as a feather. He felt giddy; he pressed his lips tight to keep from shouting. No matter what - he’d succeeded.

Eurydike was  _ free.  _

The rest was a little more worrisome, but it was hard to care with the adrenaline singing in his veins. Eurydike would live! Orpheus, best of Greeks (at music), had successfully convinced a god! How was  _ that  _ for hubris. And to think the government wanted to cut funding for the arts.

Besides, walking in front of his lover didn’t seem as challenging a task as proper heroes got. Cautiously, he ventured, “That… doesn’t sound very difficult, lord.”

“It is not supposed to be difficult,” said Lord Hades. “It is a trick. A test. A challenge to you, so I do not completely undermine our family’s dignity. Any god will be able to tell that I gave you a task, but not what the task  _ is _ . Feel free to make up something suitably horrifying if asked.” His lips quirked and he added unexpectedly, “I like you, nephew. You should consider putting out an album.”

Orpheus, embarrassingly, squeaked. (He wouldn’t tell this part to Eurydike, he decided immediately.)

“Don’t look so astonished. We do not get much music down here, but the voices of the godborn reach further than most. Though they would reach even further if you recorded anything.”

The lord tapped meaningfully on what looked like a first generation iPod lying on his desk, and Orpheus ducked his head. Not turning around might be the god’s official command, but putting together an album was the unofficial… recommendation. He’d have to look into a recording studio in Athens. After looking for a flat to share with Eurydike, of course.

“Yes, lord,” Orpheus murmured obediently, trying to keep from grinning like a lovesick fool.

And Lord Hades announced himself satisfied.

***

Eurydike was cold in his arms. But his skin was soft, completely unlike the hard wood that Orpheus had cradled on the cliff, and his returning embrace reassuringly tight. It was hard to let go. 

“You crazy, crazy man,” whispered Eurydike in his ear. Lady Persephone had explained her husband’s plot to him. “You insane idiot.”

“Godborn,” offered Orpheus.

Eurydike laughed at him. Eurydike laughing at him was Orpheus’ favourite sound; when they got to Athens, Orpheus vowed, he’d compose a ditty to honour it. The dryad shook his head.

“Oh, no. I’ve learned to recognise that particular gleam in your eyes. You can’t blame your family for this one - it’s all you.” He swooped down to press another kiss on Orpheus’ lips. “ _ Thank you. _ ”

Somewhere behind them, Lady Persephone coughed delicately. Right. They were wasting the immortal gods’ time. Still, Orpheus rose on his toes for one last kiss before his dutiful boyfriend could pull away. He grinned fiercely at Eurydike.

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you soon. At least you’ll have a great view on the way.”

He winked; Eurydike sputtered. Maybe Orpheus would compose a second ditty to Eurydike’s sputter. This was a perfect expression to keep in his mind’s eye until they reached the surface. Orpheus turned around smartly to face the gods. Lady Persephone’s and Lord Hades’ amused gazes brought him down to earth a little. But being amusing to the gods had served him well so far.

He bowed to them - for the last time for many, many years, hopefully. (Alright, it was a little disconcerting that he had no idea if Eurydike was mirroring his movements or not.)

“Thank you,” Orpheus said. He wasn’t sure if he’d said it yet. Wasn’t that ridiculous? It had been running through the back of his mind on repeat since Lord Hades’ command had pressed upon him.

The lord snorted. “Thank me when you reach the surface.”

“Safe journey,” added Lady Persephone more diplomatically. She smiled brightly. “You should go to Crete next summer. I haven’t been there since the volcano. I’m sure Cretan beaches at dawn are just as lovely.”

Another command that wasn’t a command. Orpheus touched the bandage on his wrist. He would be happy to fulfill it.

“I will look for you in the crowd, lady,” he said.

“I’ll bring a bouquet,” she replied, at the same time as the lord said, exasperated, “Now off with you already, nephew.”

The  _ nephew  _ took the sting out of his words, but Orpheus had no wish to press his luck. After adjusting the instruments on his hip and back, he began the return journey past Cerberus and towards life. Without a single glance back.

***

_ Yet should you hesitate and turn to see if he still follows, you will take his place in the underworld. _

But that was silly. Eurydike had been overjoyed to see him. Though everything that happened today had been Orpheus’ fault, Eurydike had not flinched from his kisses. The dryad had such large ambitions for life; he wouldn’t stay behind in death. His boyfriend had held him tightly; he trusted Orpheus to lead them true. No, Orpheus knew in his bones that Eurydike was behind him.

It was another thread of doubt that spun itself tight around his neck.

Eurydike had  _ died  _ because of him. Orpheus hadn’t had time to think of anything past a wild plan to get Eurydike out. But the tunnel up seemed far longer than the tunnel down. The rush of a good performance, of meeting gods, was draining from his veins. 

Now Orpheus had time to think.

_ Eurydike had died because of him. _ It had been a goddess’ murder, but it had been Orpheus who’d caused it. He wasn’t stupid: Eurydike had had other lovers before him, of course, but it was something about  _ him  _ that had caused Lady Gaea to snap. Something about him, and his guitar, and his selfish wish for Eurydike to dedicate half his life to the goddess’ goals and the other half to him. 

The thing was, if it had only been the goddess’ goals, Orpheus’ steps wouldn’t have slowed. An angry goddess was not completely inescapable. They could always follow the referee’s example and run away to Australia, pledge themselves to new gods. Australian coffee was supposed to be delicious. But it wasn’t just the goddess, was it?

Eurydike had dreams, plans, goals. Ambition: it was one of the things Orpheus admired most about him. And along came Orpheus with his guitar, and the gods were convinced he’d wreck them all. Hound Eurydike’s every step and drag him down like an anchor from reaching the heights he otherwise would. The tunnel’s walls sloped in tight around them.

For the first time in his life, Orpheus doubted himself.

This was a test, Lord Hades had told him. And it was. Orpheus had gone through life without thinking about much other than himself and his tunes; finally, here was the test to see if Eurydike had taught him anything new.

Ah, he could smell the sea; he could smell life. There were birds chirping at dawn.

Unlike Eurydike, there had never been anything much that Orpheus had wanted to accomplish. Just to sing and play his music to a happy audience. And he had done that, hadn’t he? Surpassed any other mortal musician. He had played for his lover; he had sung for the gods. His head was full of fog and the thread of doubt around his neck strangled his breath.

Maybe the lord of the dead would offer him a job.

Now he knew why Lord Hades had ordered  _ this  _ to be his task. If he could see Eurydike’s face, Eurydike would see his own. He’d figure out what Orpheus was planning, even if they didn’t speak. And then his eyebrows would draw down and his mouth would scrunch to one side like it always did when he thought Orpheus was being an arrogant asshole. And Orpheus would selfishly give in, like he always gave in to that most dear of expressions.

But he couldn’t see Eurydike.

So he waited until the entrance was only a few metres away, until he could be really, genuinely  _ sure _ that his beloved wouldn’t be stuck here alone a second longer. And then he whirled around.

There was too little time for Eurydike to fully grasp what Orpheus was doing. He stumbled back half a step; his hands shot up to hide his face. As though he could hide from Orpheus’ eyes, like he had ducked into the kitchen on that first night.

“You - ”

There was no time for that either.

“I love you,” said Orpheus while he still had a chance to say it. And then he saw no more.


End file.
